


Right Hand Man.

by readwriteandavengers



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readwriteandavengers/pseuds/readwriteandavengers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain Renard comes home a little too worked up to go straight to bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Hand Man.

The Captain enters his apartment, shedding off his jacket immediately. He's a little too hot, a little too excited to truthfully react. He's not sure what it was, what got him so worked up and pumped. He did have an extra cup of coffee more than usual but he doesn't think that could be it. He tilts his head from side to side, releasing a few cracks and creaks. He stretches his arms above his head, hoping that the tension would disperse and leave him in peace.

He moves to his kitchen, fingers hooking under his tie as he searches desperately for a drink. His mouth his dry, leaving him parched. He pulls out a water bottle and takes three healthy sips. A trickle of water escapes past the corner of his mouth, trailing down his neck. The cold liquid against his hot skin causes him to shiver, his body reacting in a delicious way. He sets the bottle down on the counter and pulls the neck loose slowly.

"Are you really going to do this, Renard?" He asks himself, letting the tie flutter to the ground. He toes off his shoes and then his socks, leaving his feet flat against the dark wood floor.

His head falls back, everything feeling ten times better than it normally would. His fingers trace up his torso, leaving a hot path behind them. His fingers tease each button, not fully releasing them until the top button is reached first. His fingers land on the top button, pushing it out of the hole. Renard's eyes flutter close at his tender touch. His fingers work slowly, torturing him. Eventually, Renard gives in, taking a deep breath as he grabs both sides of his shirt and pulls.

The buttons fly off, skittering across the floor. Renard lets out a groan, a sense of release coming over him. He runs a hand through his hair, cheeks heating up due to the embarrassment of his noises. He pushes on, regardless, and slips his undershirt off. 

"Fuck," Renard mumbles, almost sounding helpless. His fingers run across his tone stomach, searching boldly for his own nipples. Once his fingers land on the overheated, pink flesh, Renard squeezes. His hips jerk forward uncontrollably, shocking Renard. He wants to stop, wants to figure out why he's so... horny. He knows it's not him. Some Wesen beast must have slipped something too him out of spite. His thoughts worry him but he can't stop.

His hands fling down to his belt, pulling it out of the loops of his slacks. He lets the leather fall to the ground with a loud, metallic noise. With shaking fingers, Renard undoes the button on his slacks. With a daring feeling, Renard pushes his zipper down slowly, hungry for the anticipation curling in his groin.

He almost doubles over when his cock springs loose of its confines. It creates a large point in his boxers. Renard, desperate to please himself, lets the black slacks fall to the ground, pool around his ankles. His hand slips greedily into his boxers, grabbing a handful of his cock. He tugs once, enough to make his knees go weak. With as much thought as possible, Renard pushes himself up on the counter, laying back against the cold granite.

"Shit..." he moans, pushing his boxers down to his thighs. His fingers encompass his shaft, leaving a scorching touch. His other hand is quick to cup his balls, rolling them in a mind-numbing way. He wants himself to last, he wants this feeling to go on forever but from the tingling in his toes, he knows he's held out long enough. He's surprised he hadn't gotten a case of blue balls from the lack of his sexual life. He'd been busy focusing on other things. 

His breath catches in his throat as his cock twitches. He picks up the pace of his pumping but the dryness becomes to aware. He reaches behind him, grabbing the lotion bottle at the sink. He's suddenly grateful that he is who he is, wanting to keep his hands properly smooth after washing dishes. He squeezes out the slick, white mess and slaps it onto his cock. The cold liquid causes his hips to buck into his fist. His head falls back against the granite as he moves fast and frantic. He doesn't care about the feeling any more, he cares about getting off.

His teeth clamp down on his bottom lip, bringing forth the right amount of pain to his pleasure. His skin smacks against skin, seeming so much louder in the quiet room. His mind is blank as he gives in, letting the curling in his groan unfurl. His hips sputter as his white seed spills forth, coating his knuckles and thigh. His tense muscles relax and everything seems to collapse. He's boneless against the counter, hating the fact that he'll have to get up and shower.

Taking a deep breath, he sits up straight, hands curling on the edge of the counter. He pushes himself off, yawning as exhaustion takes over. He rubs in between his pecs, heart still beating fast. 

He walks to the shower, cock limp in between his legs. There's a small smile on his face, his eyes full of mischief as he turns the hot water on.


End file.
